Music that moves you

I remember being totally frustrated by the lack of support I was getting in my brother’s bedroom. I was blasting away on my Jackson guitar, playing it through my Princeton Chorus, I think. Although I could have been using one of my brothers’ amplifiers…I can’t remember. I was always using my brothers’ gear. I had no idea what I wanted to sound like, but I knew that they knew what they wanted to sound like. So whenever possible, I just used their gear.

It was 1996, the same year as my first live performance ever. During that initial show, Vic, Bob, and I took the stage at the Wonder Bar in Wonder Lake, WI, to polite cheers from our too-polite parents, and of course a rowdy welcome from Scotty Dennis, who was probably drunk and was being more ironic in his applause than helpful. He was a hipster before being a hipster was a thing – a deep well of wisdom and humor. But on this night, he was there to see my brothers’ band, Juvenocracy, which had just released its double-disc opus, 2 of a Kind. And he was just being an asshole to us. But I appreciated his efforts, anyway, not knowing what else to do but appreciate it.

So we played through our hour-long set, boring all within earshot with our endless choruses and even endlesser verses. If I thought harder, I could probably remember some lyrics for you, but what would be the point? Just think about a movie starring a lawnmower on a dirt path, and you get the idea. Really boring stuff. But it was my music, and I thought it was amazing! Still do, actually. It takes something special to stand in front of an audience and perform original music. It’s a feeling you can only get by doing it, and whether or not you have a whole stadium singing along or if you are playing to an empty room, nothing compares. It’s the height of sadness and credulity, depending on how much of the audience’s attention you are able to commandeer. For me, the pursuit of musical performance excellence has always been wrought with sadness. I have had a few bright spots, though.

Like the first time my brother, Noah, performed with The Corrupt Senators. It was summer 1996 Vic had left the band by then – can’t say I blamed him – but Noah brought a whole new energy to the sound. It truly was night and day, as Noah was able to open up musical expression in us that didn’t exist before. And he did it in a way that only Noah can.

Noah is a born leader, as anyone who has stepped into his line of vision can attest. We would all follow Noah into battle without a moment’s hesitation. Not because he’s brilliant, but because he’s a natural leader of people. Maybe you know a natural leader of people, maybe you don’t. Noah is one. Scotty Dennis was one as well, for that matter. But Scotty had a harder life than most of us – a broken home, a drunk dad – that sort of thing is hard to get past.

Noah became our conductor, speeding up our tempo and the pace of our songwriting in the process. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air, and Bob and I felt the difference immediately. Where Vic was deliberate, Noah was surprising. Where Vic was quiet, Noah was staccato. They couldn’t have felt more different. As I took to strumming my Jackson, the sounds it produced with Noah on drums were inherently more beautiful than those that I was able to coax out with Vic at the helm.

I am not a natural leader, though I have always wished to be one. It’s a sad fact that I am only now able to recognize after decades of failure. So we went from an aimless band to a band with clear direction from the moment Noah took over on drums. It’s like we were on a treasure hunt for a year and then someone handed us a map, and we learned we were standing on the treasure – all we had to do was dig.

It was a hot night, that first show with Noah at the helm, in a tent across the street from The Wonder Bar, of all places. But this show couldn’t have been more different from our dalliance mere months earlier. To say we stole the show is ridiculous, but we did. We came out firing, and I’m not sure I’ve played a better show since. We were on a mission to kill it, and we did. It was 12:30 a.m. and the tent was full of rowdy drunks by the time we got started. They went berzerk. We felt fucking amazing! It truly was awesome.

I’ve only felt that feeling one other time in my life. The feeling that everything is hitting on all cylinders and that nothing can possibly go wrong. I felt that one other time, and over a year later and on a basketball court. I’ll save that story for a different day, but the feeling is still in me, and even as I write this, I can feel bumps growing and hair standing up on my arms. It is a feeling that can only be felt by those that take great risks. And while I am not a great leader of men, I was born with (or maybe developed) an ability to take great risks. And getting on stage and putting my art out there in the form of music is one of the greatest risks a person in the first world can take. And I took that risk. I have taken that risk hundreds of times since.

I don’t remember which songs we played that night. I do know that for the first and probably only time, my brothers’ band, Juvenocracy, had been upstaged. It was an occurrence so rare that I truly don’t think it ever happened before or after that night.

Juvenocracy was among the greatest bands ever. I am not joking, and I am not exaggerating. If you ask people who were there to witness the band in its prime – the foursome of Nate, Jefe, Brad, and Noah – it was something to behold. When I say, “great”, I mean that they captured the imagination of a large group of people. Not so large a group as the Beatles or The Stones, but the impact was similar. They gave us hope where we had felt none before. And not only for me. But a whole generation of musicians who grew up after Juvenocracy grew up thinking that musical pursuits were possible and fruitful. Prior to Juvenocracy, the kids in our little town thought of music as something geeks did. But here were some cool people in a band fronted by the most popular guy in town, Noah, and they were killing it! It truly opened eyes and opened doors.

And they were really fucking good. I was in a Guitar Center with Nate and Jefe one time, and they were jamming some stuff on two acoustic guitars in the store. A fucking crowd was developing around them! I have never seen anything like it since! A fucking crowd of shoppers in Guitar Center was gathering to see who the fuck was making this amazing music over in the guitar section. And my recollection is that it truly was unique and beautiful, though today I have no idea what Juvenocracy song they were performing or if it was even a finished song or maybe just something they made up on the spot. But that was Juvenocracy – they were at their peak, really the peak of their profession – and nothing could stop them.

But here I was with Vic and Bob on stage, not having the first idea about what to say into the mic, or even knowing the lyrics to my own damn songs (I didn’t actually start writing lyrics until If Howard Roark Could Dance – a story for a different time). I mumbled and tried not to sing in my natural, high-pitch register, because I was afraid it would sound too much like a girl singing. So instead, I sang an octave down. I sang our long, boring, droning songs an octave down and sounded ridiculous. But nobody was listening, except for my mom and dad. And maybe Bob’s mom and sister, though I’m pretty sure they were chatty a bit more than any musician would like an audience member to be.

At one point, not knowing what to say and being scared of what would happen if I didn’t say anything, I threatened the audience (yes, literally threatened the audience), saying something like, “I dare anyone to come on stage without getting his ass kicked.” I think what I was trying to communicate was, “Please join us on stage for some shenanigans”, but it came out as a threat. But that is part of the risk in giving a microphone to someone who doesn’t know how to wield it. The sad thing is that to this day I remain ashamed of that passing comment and remember it as if it was yesterday. In fact, I remember my dad saying, “What?!?!” in a confusing tone as the words passed my lips. I remain horrified of the video of that night. A night I was hoping would be a triumph was a disaster. But that is the way with risks. The first time is always a disaster and it gets incrementally-better from there (of course with lots of bumps along the way). The great improv artist, Jill Bernard, told me once that the great improv artists are not consistently great. Rather the variability between above average nights and good nights gets less-and-less. And the horrible nights get less-and-less. And so it is with music performing. As we learn our craft, both in stage performance and in instrument performance, the horrible nights become less-and-less, and we are consistently better. But we cannot be great every night, although it’s possible to appear to untrained eyes & ears to have endless great nights when the scale of the performance is great (see Paul McCartney or even Brittney Spears for that matter).

For the rest of us, it’s toil for toil’s sake. But the toil is what makes the victories even sweeter.

Tonight I played at a house party. It was awesome. The hosts were cordial, and the attendees were wonderfully-supportive. There were all sorts of other bands there. As such, the between show chatter surrounded band-related stuff with a healthy dose of cover-band hatin’. Thank you! It was refreshing to have those conversations. I felt at home with those people.

For my set, I blasted through many of the songs from Faraway Farm and ended with Kirsten Dunst, per Tony’s request.

I noticed that I wasn’t really nervous at all, and I don’t know why. 10 years ago, I would have been shitting bricks at the thought of standing in front of a bunch of people in a basement playing my own music. I also warmed up in front of the neighbors from my back porch before leaving and didn’t feel nervous about that either. Maybe it’s confidence; maybe it’s a sense of a bigger world. Honestly, I kind of miss feeling nervous before shows.

The Speakeasy Heroes were the predecessor to my Minneapolis outfits. If we could travel back in time to the year 2000, we would see a young grunge outfit transforming into something special. We were greater than the sum of our parts. I have not quite been able to capture and release the magic of that band since. On the whole, the music I am writing today is vastly superior to the music I was writing back then, but sometimes a good band trumps good music.

We were able to reunite for the first time in 12 years and performed a couple of songs at my wedding. Here is a clip of us playing Nate Cryns’s Con El Sol.

We released an LP that summer, complete with songs written and recorded that summer. Pretty neat! Ask nicely, and I might send you a copy.

It was a grind on Saturday, but I am so pumped about what I am working on.

In the past, I have posted everything as I have recorded it. This time I am taking inspiration from Charlie Van Stee‘s and LETRON‘s respective forthcoming albums in that I am keeping a tight lid on things. I did share a recording with my bass player and collaborator, but no response…go figure. Haha!

It was neat to hear LETRON’s Heels recently. I had no idea what she was working on all the last year, but I knew she was working. It was awesome to be surprised by the inventiveness of the recording in its polished format.

Writing and recording music is one of those things, like reading an academic article or raising a child, that provides very few tangible benefits in the moment. But the outcomes can be wonderful and romantic.

So it is that I have been writing all day, grinding out notes and lyrics and melodies and chords in the hopes that by dinnertime I will have something to record. I do.

I am trying some things I have never tried before. Wish me luck as I dive deep into it this evening.

Cryns.com is a mess right now. It lacks focus. Sure there is all sorts of great content on the site, but so what? I need to focus.

So, I am going to restart this engine. It will start focused and stay focused. My focus will be doing what I do best – telling stories through music. Songwriting drives this machine.

All of the old website content that you have come to love will be accessible on this site via search, but the main navigation will be disappearing. In its place will be a recent account of the next Cryns #3 adventure.

I have found that truly personal successes in life are few and far between. Herds rule this Earth of ours. They are the driving force for almost everything around us. Herds are responsible for great structures and horrible wars. Herds create things, but rarely can individuals rightly take credit for the things herds create.

Writing and recording music is my escape from the herd. My escape from this horrifyingly simple and unstoppable momentum. It is an opportunity to be responsible for something. It is my creation.

For the last week or so, I have been planning a secret show starring nationally-reknowned jazz guitarist, Randy Napoleon. The invitations have already gone out, however I know that some of the invitations disappeared into the internets. If you are reading this and would like to attend, call me on my cell, and I will send you an invitation.

I have a show in the works that, if it happens, will be totally awesome. It will take place in the Friendly Confines of my house and will feature a totally rocking jazz guitarist. Mark your calendars for Saturday, March 12. It will be invite-only due to space restrictions, so be sure to hit me up if you are interested in attending.

I will be opening up the show with some piano stylings in the vein of Cryns #3.

An energy flows from my upper stomach and into my eyes and exits through my armhairs when I listen to “Every New Day” by Five Iron Frenzy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFIMOJ46ofk

Five Iron Frenzy is a now-defunct Christian ska band from the 1990’s. They were among the biggest bands on the Christian touring circuit for a while in the mid-1990’s, at the height of the short-lived pop-ska scene (remember Squirrel Nut Zippers?). They were also one of the best bands of that decade.

They had 2 1/2 good albums followed by a bunch of crap, which is as good as we can hope for most of the time.

“Every New Day” is something of a rock-infused ballad. It is up-beat and heart-felt at the same time. It is genuine and caring.

While the lyrics were written in deference to the Big Man in the Clouds, I think a lot about Lisa when I hear it today. It is about how someone can make someone else feel like every day is fresh, beautiful, and exciting.

One time back in 2001, I was waiting in line at a Dairy Queen with a former girlfriend. We were fighting about something that was probably not worth fighting over when I saw a mentally challenged girl a few spots up order a chocolate fudge ice-cream sundae. When I saw how happy the girl order became when the sundae hit her hands, I immediately lost all reason to argue.

Here I was with someone that I cared about, enjoying a summer day at a DQ, waiting for ice cream, and fighting about something dumb. The fickleness of human interactions was visible, and I became instantly ashamed.

The girl with the sundae was beautiful, and we were raining on her parade….or maybe she was shining a ray of sunshine on ours.

There are people among us who are rays of light. There are those of us that suck up sunlight, and there are those that radiate it.

There are great and wonderful things happening in this world all around us all the time. Sometimes it helps to be reminded of that.

Lisa has a hard time at my shows. Last night we had a talk about this.

The songs I sing are not well-rounded pictures of situations. They are photographs of moments in time blown out to 2-5 minutes. None of my songs give people a well-rounded concept about anything. They are emotional and reactive and beautiful snapshots.

Unfortunately, when I sing about a snapshot in time that I experienced with another person many years ago, it is easy for people to get the idea that those snapshots represent the whole of relationships. This is not the case.

When I sing about people who hold or have formerly held prominent roles in my life, it does not do justice to the complexity of those relationships.

Since Lisa and I rarely talk about past relationships, those 2-5 minute songs are all she has to work from. It makes sense that she might increase the magnifying glass and turn them into her reality of those relationships, filling in all gaps with the contents of my songs. But the fact is most of my relationships are scarily ordinary. I regularly experience and have experienced moments of brilliance with friends, current and past. But for the most part, nothing exceptional happens 99% of the time.

My music is the audio representation of 1% of my exceptional waking hours.

So, while 1% of the time I spent with former girlfriends and friends was exceptional, 99% of it was pretty unexceptional.

I would argue that 2-5% of my time with Lisa is exceptional, which is pretty exciting stuff for me! The fact that I have only a handful of songs that reference Lisa and our experiences together is merely a factor of time and my lack of recent musical production. Rest assured, they are coming.

I have songs in the works about cats, marriage, love, and family that Lisa has played a significant role in crafting. Unfortunately, until they are finalized, my band will continue playing songs from past albums. I love them and will probably always love them, but it is time to move on.

Over the past year or so, you have probably noticed that my band has been focusing on our more abstract songs and less on songs that call out former girlfriends directly. This is a result of me attempting to bring Lisa into the fold. I would do more if I could, but we are working from relatively finite resources here – 2 LPs + a number of odds and ends. We are also continually rounding out our collection of songs that we cover, the expansion of which is partially owing to my desire to bring Lisa closer to the Cryns #3 community.

I will continue to talk with Lisa about things I can do to make my music more accessible to her. I desperately want her to sing along with the rest of you, even though she is shy about singing out loud. I know she’s got a beautiful singing voice buried underneath that shyness.

I have always wondered what it would be like to have investors – folks who believe in me and my music so much that they would front me money for my next project. Basically, a record label.

What if I had people demanding that I get in the studio to record, demanding that I make a music video. And what if I was on the hook financially for those outcomes?

Would it produce better, quicker results?

I think so.

There is a newish thing happening on the indie music scene. It is called “crowd-funding” or “fan-funding”.

The idea is that I get a bunch of friends and fans and family to invest money in my next project. In return they get something based on the amount they give – i.e. a cd, a hug, a drawing, a song named after them, a party, etc. It is like quid pro quo, except there is an element of awesomeness to it.

In addition to getting fabulous prizes, investors have a real impact on my production.

Head on over to Music to Swear By to listen to this weeks’ podcast featuring Ryan, John, and me. Over the course of the podcast we talk about our experiences playing in this band. I learned a lot about Ryan and John – things they never told me about life, love, the universe.

Like yesterday, I will be unable to post this beautifully-haunting rendition of Mason Jennings’ “Nothing” on account of the stupid laws of this fair land we call, “home”.

Thankfully, YouTube has a deal with the big music publishing companies that allows me to post videos of Mason Jennings’ “Nothing”. Here is one such recording from May 2008. Email me if you want to hear the new recording.

This song, as you know, is about a song. The title of both songs is, “Let’s get funky!”.

A few days ago, I stumbled across an old recording of the original song from 1997. While it has lost the rich horns and Bob’s voice that accompanied the original recording, I am pleased to say that today’s recording has lost none of the luster that made the original a success.